


The dyes of lovely earth (seem lovelier painted there)

by sapphi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 19th century social democrats, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Human, Artist/Muse, Gilbert being an overprotective brother, Homophobia, Lovino Vargas - Freeform, Ludwig Beilschmidt - Freeform, M/M, Multichapter, Revenge, Romano, Siblings, and a conservative family trying to get past that, gilbert beilschmidt - Freeform, one sided germano
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:17:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphi/pseuds/sapphi
Summary: Lovino is more than happy to let Ludwig take the fall for their would-be mutual destruction. But a bird is never the same once caged. And Ludwigs older brother has some things to say...Germano in the 19th century. Impending doom and revenge abound.





	The dyes of lovely earth (seem lovelier painted there)

Do I not find within thy radiant eyes   
Fairer reflections of all joys most fair?   
In thee I marvel at myself--the dyes   
Of lovely earth seem lovelier painted there,   
And in the bright looks of the friend is given   
A heavenlier mirror even of the heaven! 

* * *

 

The way he put his hand on my knee wasn't sensual. It resembled a friendly slap, followed by a booming yet warm laugh.  
  
Familiarity made me almost lean forward. Almost lean in to return the floaty, happy feelings with a kiss to his cheek and a chuckle.   
  
But those feelings were entirely absent here.   
  
"Missed me?" he said, all charm and teasingly cavalier. Two words alone and my heart lurched in mourning for the memory of how we used to be.  
  
He looked the same, I realized achingly, even better maybe. Vibrant green eyes, golden skin and a smirk that could undo me.  
  
"Yes," I had to pause for a second and tell my voice to stop dripping desperation.   
  
"I didn't." Another laugh, the 'kidding, kidding' kind. I didn't feel like laughing at that. Especially since my skin still was painted in blues and purples from the, as the law called it, 'goodbye' I received at prison.  
  
"You are being so- so damn inappropriate, I can't believe you're still acting like this!"  
  
And that shut him up. Perhaps I had yelled, I wasn't sure, it all felt so numb. My body was devoid of any sensation aside from slowly settling disappointment.   
  
Was this what I killed my name, my reputation for?  
  
"Ludwig, darling, you’re being unreasonable-"   
  
"No. No! I did this for /you/, Lovino, I did everything so you still could have your pretty little name on paintings hanging in some aristocrat's house!"  
  
Silence again. “I don’t even know who you are anymore."  
  
“You expected me to be the same after being locked in there,” quietly dangerous, tired, a burnt out fire with angry shouldering ashes, “now who’s being unreasonable?”  
  
He reached out a hand; he dared to reach out after pulling away for so long. After an empty visitation room and letters that never had his name scrawled on top. I swatted it away. "It was half a year..."  
  
"My family has to move away now. We lost all respect that we'd worked so hard for just because I didn't want it to happen to /you/."  
  
“Sorry. But what I could’ve lost has more weight than what your family did. You can’t compare ruined artists to a ruined clock manufacturer.”  
  
The world slowed.   
  
"What."  
  
There must have been an edge to my voice. Knife sharp. Because he cleared his throat and started tapping his fingers on the table nervously.  
  
"I mean, no offense, you do great work and all - but you produce clocks. Simple clocks for simple people. Working with any sort of gold was such a special event for you. /My/ work is on church walls and in the upper class's most treasured rooms. It's for eternity."  
  
I closed my eyes. In my mind I saw the image of our first encounter. Whispers of an inviting grin, a challenge.   
  
Someone interested in me instead of my brother. A metamorphosis from wallflower to art inspiration, his infuriatingly perfect mouth spilling words that both riled and flustered me, making me pose in the naked sunlight of his expensive studio.   
  
I was clay in his masterful, skillful, godly hands.   
  
Foul mouthed and honest and bursting with blunt force and vibrancy. Like I wanted to be.   
  
He kept me near. ‘muses should always be close for sudden inspiration,’ he’d tell me, half in mock pretentiousness, in between the covers, a hand trailing down my bare chest.   
  
But that was in a different life. Before love put me in a very real cage with very real bars.   
  
"You're so full of...” a sigh filled the space where my words should’ve been.   
  
"I'm not wrong."   
  
He didn't realise how typical that sentence was for him. Sometimes I wondered who he was trying to convince.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and beginning are excerpts from Schiller's "Friendship" (which Der Eigene, a homosexual magazine from the early 20th century, interpreted as pretty gay). 
> 
> This started off as a sort of prompt that Soliloquium suggested and later on edited (read: they refuse to be included as co-author even though they basically are).


End file.
